by Michael Mirolla 

It’s a shallow hole
a roped-out hole

within it a horse
lies on its flank
helpless unable to move
eyes wild breathing fear
like rib-cage bellows
a woman with a kerchief
and a microscopic brush

combs the horse as if
searching for something
from tip of nose
to end of mane
meticulous inch
by inch every speck

she continues to do this
until there is nothing left
but a string of bones
half-buried in unoxidized earth
herself now breathing heavily
the woman wipes her brow
and places a staked sign
where the nose tip was:

Equus ferus ferus – last of its kind

— from Juniper Volume 2, Issue 2